


Scaredy Cat

by MajorTrouble



Series: Team Bingo Bongo for BIKM Bingo! [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BIKM Bingo Fill - #57 Scary, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Haunted House, Horror, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28993434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajorTrouble/pseuds/MajorTrouble
Summary: Scary:1 : causing fright : alarming; a scary story2 : easily scared : timid3 : feeling alarm or fright : frightened
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Team Bingo Bongo for BIKM Bingo! [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2126874
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	Scaredy Cat

They’d been trapped inside the old, decaying house for three days. The only reason they knew it’d been three days was that light still bled through the windows with the rising of the sun and disappeared with the settling of night. The walls also bled from time to time. It was a thick, red, viscous liquid that seeped from the pores of the wood and stained the ripped paper and moldering rugs. 

Geralt knew it wasn’t blood. It didn’t smell like it, and certainly didn’t taste like it. More like sap or syrup that rose to the surface and leaked out. He didn’t know what compelled him to bring the liquid to his lips, but tasting it evoked memories of hot summer days and cool breezes that played through his hair as he lay in the grass. 

They were not his memories. 

Somewhere in this house was Jaskier. He was trapped here as well. Got trapped here first, in fact, and was the reason that Geralt burst through the front door, silver sword at the ready, only to see Jaskier bound by dark tendrils of solid smoke, floating in the air, eyes wide in panicked fear. 

“Geralt! Please - run!” the bard had managed to gasp out before he was dragged off, through a doorway and up a flight of stairs, away from Geralt. Away from safety. 

The Witcher had felt the cold, solid core of himself get colder as fear seeped in. He was scared. The doorway behind him had sealed up before he’d turned around and now, no matter where he looked, how many windows he broke or stairs he climbed, he couldn’t leave this house. 

And Jaskier was nowhere to be found. 

Getting as close to the back of the house as he could, he’d set himself up in what passed for a kitchen. He dared not fall asleep, and the one time he’d tried to meditate, voices started whispering to each other right at the edge of his hearing. He’d leapt up at that, searching through the house quickly, but found nothing. When he’d returned to the kitchen, the contents of his pack were strewn across the dirty floors, bottles smashed to bits, contents soaking into the wood. 

There was something malevolent at work in here, but he had no idea what it was. It was like nothing that he’d come across before. The fact that it could make another human disappear so completely made him uneasy. 

The sun was setting on the fourth day and he was no closer to figuring out the mystery of the house. He’d cleaned up what little remained of his pack, but the meager rations would only last another day at best. He sighed. 

As the last rays of light diminished, shadows thickening and blending together, Geralt made his way down the wooden steps into the cold cellar. The smell of fresh earth was somewhat refreshing after the cloying rot from above. He took a moment to inhale deeply, closing his eyes and concentrating. 

The tinkling sound of bells made him snap his eyes open. He cocked his head, trying to locate the direction of the sound and finally decided that it was coming from somewhere above him. Quietly, he sidled back up the stairs, through the kitchen, past where the front door had been, and up the creaking wooden staircase to the second floor. Along with the sound of bells he could hear a child’s voice, humming absently.

There was a light at the end of the hallway, slipping out from under the edge of the door. He strained his hearing, drawing deep breaths to try to figure out what he was up against. The humming became louder as he moved closer to the door, eventually forming words. 

“ _Who will I give my baby?_

_If I give it to the old woman, she will keep it for a day._

_If I give it to the black ox, he will keep it for a year._

_If I give it to the white wolf, will he keep it forever?_

_Who will take my baby?”_

The shiver that stole down Geralt’s spine made his teeth clench. 

Ever so carefully, he edged the door open. The smell of decay and rot became nearly overpowering as he stepped into the room. Despite having searched every nook and cranny in the derelict house, he’d never seen this room before. It hadn’t existed before this moment. 

A figure was seated cross-legged in the middle of the rotting floor, overly large limbs covered in fire-blackened skin. A shroud hung in torn strips from its body, smeared with dust and dirt, and wrapped firmly around its head where its face would be. The child-like voice continued to sing the lilting lullaby as Geralt moved forward and the air nearly caught in his throat as he saw the figure cradled in those grotesque arms.

Jaskier was so pale as to be translucent. His hair looked unnaturally thick and dark against such pale skin, and his eyes were closed, sunken in like he’d taken ill. 

Geralt must have made some sound as the figure snapped its attention up to him, orange eyes reflecting the wane light of the moon streaming through the window behind it. 

“Witcher,” it sing-songed at him, drawing out the syllables. “Witcher, I have your pet. I will make a bargain - a trade. One life for another.”

Geralt kept his expression neutral as he looked down at the creature before him. Every fibre of his being was screaming at him not to take it, to cut this thing down and wrest Jaskier from its grasp. But something stopped him. Maybe it was the cat-slit pupils that bored into his own. Maybe the slight tremble in the figure’s limbs. 

Whatever it was, he found himself nodding instead. “Give me the bard, and let us leave this place in peace, and I will see to it no one comes here again.”

Those keen eyes flashed at him before it nodded. “I accept, Witcher. Take your bard. Never return.” It lifted up Jaskier’s prone form, offering it to him.

Just as Geralt reached down to take Jaskier, there was a rush of air through the room and darkness engulfed him. It battered against his senses, whipping his hair around his face. He lunged forward, gathering Jaskier to his chest and holding on tightly, staggering backwards out of the room. Blinded, he tried to turn to where he thought the stairs were, but tripped instead, falling backwards.

Instead of hurtling over the bannister and into the floorboards below, Geralt’s back impacted with soft grass. Just as suddenly as the maelstrom started, it was gone and he opened his eyes, sitting up and looking around. 

It was past midday and he was back in the clearing where he’d left Roach, about an hour’s walk from the house. Jaskier was still clutched desperately to his chest, still waxen-pale, but breathing steadily, deeply, like he was asleep. 

Wrapping his arms more firmly around the man, Geralt let himself hold the bard as warm sunlight seeped into his limbs and he formulated a story to keep people away from the old house on the edge of the woods. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank-you for reading!! Y'all are the best <3


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